


Jitters

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Laura Hale, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, Bonding, Bottom Derek, First Time, Hotel Sex, Humor, M/M, McCall Pack, Peter sucks, Porn with Feelings, The Hale Fire, Top Stiles Stilinski, True Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:52:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2166468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wedding was Peter’s idea: a way to unite two packs, not to mention curry favor with another Alpha.  Laura found her mate before she became the Hale Alpha, Cora is too young to be matched, and Peter obviously would never inconvenience himself in such a way.  That left Derek.</p>
<p>The night before the wedding, Derek's a nervous wreck.  He's alone in his hotel suite, thinking about bolting and leaving Peter and Laura to pick up the pieces, when room service knocks on his door with a very special delivery...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jitters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twofourteen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofourteen/gifts).



> Quick Note: I don't see this as cheating/infidelity (and didn't tag it as such) because Derek has zero relationship, emotional or physical, with the guy he's supposed to marry. But if that still makes you uncomfortable, take this as your warning.
> 
> Self-betaed. Volunteers are scarce these days :P
> 
> Written for Anna: I adore you and you deserve to be showered with wonderful things and TW porn to make up for all the shitty stuff! ♥ ♥ ♥

There’s a light, courteous knock at Derek’s door. He remains seated at the end of the hotel bed, scowling at the generic watercolor on the opposite wall as he’s been doing for the last forty minutes.

Eventually the knock gets sharper and louder, knuckles pounding insistently on the thick door. Too annoying to ignore. Derek can’t think of anyone he wants to see right now.

“It says _do not disturb_ ,” Derek growls as he yanks the door open with a rush of air. “Can’t you read?”

The young man in the hallway is unaffected. “Yeah, I can _totally_ read,” he says, voice working to soothe Derek’s snarl. “I read this order ticket that says ‘deliver at ten o’clock to room 1003—don’t be late.’”

Derek looks at his door, 1003 in brass numerals. “I didn’t order anything.”

The attendant rechecks his ticket while Derek studies him. His shirt is the same forest green as the carpet under their feet; the standard fit is poorly cut around his shoulders, and it does little to flatter the lean, tapered build Derek imagines beneath the fabric. But the burnished gold tie around his neck—otherwise bordering on tacky—sets his brown eyes alight. His up-tipped nose scrunches as he tries to make out the handwriting on the ticket.

“It says the request was made by a P. Bale? That sound familiar?”

“Hale,” Derek sighs.

“Someone you know?”

Derek nods and steps aside, reluctant though he is to accept something from his uncle. Peter’s the one responsible for the nightmare Derek’s currently living. The attendant carries his tray past Derek and sets it on the wide desk.

“You’re not wearing a nametag,” Derek remarks as he takes the folio to sign for his mysterious delivery.

“I work here, I promise, but they refused to put the name I go by on the nametag.”

“Which is?”

“Stiles.”

Derek hands over the folio. Stiles takes it and shifts his weight from foot to foot. There are a number of moles thrown across the smooth planes of his face, a few more dropped on the visible skin of his throat. Derek listens to his perfectly measured pulse, lets it temper his own poorly concealed anxiety. 

Stiles’ faceted brown eyes flick between Derek and the covered tray. “Are you going to open it?”

“You don’t know what it is?”

“No way! My boss said he’d throw me in the industrial dryer if I peeked, and my hair would _not_ do well with that kind of static electricity, you know? But you seem a little apprehensive about it. I can leave if you’d rather check it out by yourself.”

When Derek fails to object, Stiles steps forward until he’s standing at Derek’s shoulder. His scent is dimensional—for a human—and intriguing, clover layered over icing sugar and lemons, light like meringue. Rarely has Derek found a scent so wholly satisfying.

He pulls the cover off the hotel’s tray and immediately slams it back down.

But not fast enough. 

“Oh my God, what the… _that’s_ what I was carrying?” Stiles sputters. “I hope you added a tip, because that’s nuts.”

Derek wants to disappear—out the door, out the window, under the bed. Anything to avoid the humiliation. Because Peter, the infernal bastard, has sent Derek a colorful assortment of _sex aides_.

“Oh, _oh_ , I get it,” Stiles says, his composure returning. Derek remains an utter mess. “This is a joke, right? You’re getting married tomorrow and someone’s playing a bachelor prank on you.”

“How—”

“The rooms up here are almost always booked for weddings ‘cause they’re large and private,” Stiles explains. Getting a good look at the hard set of Derek’s jaw, he adds, “But you’re not finding this funny, like, at all, are you?”

Derek shakes his head. His uncle is a goddamn asshole. This wedding was Peter’s idea: a way to unite two packs, not to mention curry favor with another Alpha. Laura found her mate before she became the Hale Alpha, Cora is too young to be matched, and Peter obviously would never inconvenience himself in such a way. That left Derek. He’s to be married off to a beta he’s never met in a ceremony no one allowed him to help plan. The only piece of information Peter shared was that Derek’s future mate was a male (at least he got that detail right) who enjoyed taking charge.

Derek _never_ wants to find out how Peter knew that.

After the reveal, Peter winked and told Derek, “You’d better practice. Bradley is _not_ a patient man.”

“Right!” Stiles claps, shocking Derek out of his recollections. “I’m just gonna get this tray _gone_ —I don’t care what my boss says. You’re the guest, and I’m here to make you happy. So adios, naughty things!”

He reaches for the tray at the same time Derek moves to stop him, their hands colliding mid-grab. The touch is incendiary—Derek’s not ready for the wave of heat that rolls through him and he reels back, dumbstruck. Stiles stares, his wide mouth gaping open.

“Did I shock you or something?”

_Or something_.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” Derek covers. “You can leave it.”

He drops onto the end of the bed, leaving a wide buffer between him and Stiles. Blood races through his veins at a mad pace. Stiles looks at his hand before taking a seat less than two feet away from Derek’s legs.

“If you wanna talk about it, I—” Stiles cuts himself short when Derek snarls. “Okay, I’ll talk then,” he says. “So, like, I’ve worked at this hotel every summer since I started college, and I’ve seen a lot of grooms-to-be, but I’ve never seen anyone look as petrified as you do right now. And no, don’t growl at me,” he chides as Derek does just that, “but that seems so wrong. Obviously this wedding is not something you want to happen. Am I right?”

Derek acknowledges with the faintest of nods.

“Then why are you doing it?”

There are a dozen reasons. Derek should have a mate by now: twenty eight years old and still alone. He isn’t lonely—he’s happy with his life and his work—but his wolf has become harder and harder to control without a mate to anchor him. And it would help the Hale pack rebuild its reputation; Derek owes Laura for all she’s done to keep their small group together.

Derek has to offer himself up for the stability of his pack, no matter how hard Laura searches for other options.

But the only thing he tells Stiles is, “I’m supposed to.” It’s truth, but it’s one snowflake in an avalanche.

“That’s total bullshit,” Stiles insists vehemently. “I know that’s not all there is to it, um…” He looks faintly embarrassed. “Sorry. They didn’t write your name on the ticket.”

“Derek.”

Stiles tests the name on his tongue; Derek enjoys the sound.

“You can tell me that this is none of my business—and you’d totally be right—but I can’t see any reason for doing something that’s gonna make you this miserable. You deserve better.”

“You don’t know me,” Derek points out. “Maybe I do.”

The corners of Stiles’ mouth curl down. “Okay, that’s bullshit _again_. You’re indulging a complete stranger here,” he says, “looking for any kind of distraction. You’re playing the self-pity card as an excuse, but you don’t believe that any more than I do. I know that werewolves do the whole _arranged marriage_ thing way more than humans do, but they’re never forced, right? At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

Derek glances up from his study of Stiles’ elongated neck. “You know?”

Stiles’ grin is warm and indulgent. “The other thing about the rooms on this floor is that they’re sound-proofed—usually only requested by werewolves.” He tilts towards Derek. “That and your eyes keep flicking down to my throat whenever I’m talking. Definitely not a body part most humans pay attention to, you know?”

“You have a nice neck,” Derek says. Stiles’ cheeks bloom like a pale rose, flush disappearing past the collar of his uniform.

“That’s a pretty good line.”

“It’s not a _line_.”

Derek’s been in a fugue state since arriving at the hotel, but now every sense is tuned and alert, coming alive for the first time since he agreed to Peter’s arrangement over Laura’s objections. His wolf wants to lay down for Stiles, bare soft skin in submission.

“Can I ask you something? It’s kinda personal.”

Derek nods. Stiles turns his hand palm-up on his lap and traces the lifelines with his eyes.

“What did you feel, you know, when you touched me?”

He isn’t surprised that Stiles noticed. Not really. A moment slips by as Derek considers backing out of the question, but Stiles took a chance by asking—Derek should, too, by answering.

“Warm,” he says, “like the heat came on full blast.”

“And that doesn’t happen to you, like, all the time or anything, right?”

Derek shakes his head—neglecting to mention the fact that it’s _never_ happened to him before—and lets the silence envelop both of them. He waits for the restlessness and anxiety to overtake him, but his breathing remains steady, distress buffered by the honest rhythm of Stiles’ pulse. Derek uses the thoughtful moment of quiet to memorize Stiles’ scent in case this is his only chance.

It’s a thorough scenting (as much as it can be without Stiles picking up on what he’s doing), which is why Derek is able to pinpoint the exact moment Stiles’ essence shifts into something more robust. Goes from airy and aromatic to full-bodied and tempting.

Arousal is really hard to mistake.

“Again, it’s seriously none of my business, but if that _stuff_ wasn’t a joke”—Stiles waves at the offending tray—“then what was it for?”

“Practice.” Derek wants to smack himself. No one said he needed to be _that_ candid.

“Are you serious?” Stiles stands and swoops over the tray, tossing the cover onto the desk. “That’s what all this is for? So that your new mate won’t have to _bother_?” An angry breath is driven out of his lungs in a huff. “Gotta be one of the most twisted things I’ve ever heard. And you’re telling me you’re okay with doing this. Dude, I can’t—”

Stiles’ heartbeat has changed from a calming metronome to a violent drum beat as he outlines the nightmare Derek’s living through. Derek can’t find the words to explain—to defend the decision he made and currently regrets—so he deflects instead.

“Did you just call me _dude_?” Derek asks teasingly. He stands and approaches the desk where Stiles is fuming; the tousled ends of his soft hair would probably singe if Derek reached out and touched it. “You’re a hotel employee and I’m your guest. You should be calling me _sir_.”

Stiles grins. “Hate to break it to you, but my shift ended as soon as you signed that ticket.” His gestures are wide enough to push the air around. Derek feels it brush across his cheeks. “You were my last job of the night. So now you’re no longer a guest—you’re just the hot dude I was checking out earlier. I almost freakin’ died when you opened the door.”

Derek frowns. “When did you see me?”

Stiles drops his arms and pouts. _Jesus_. Derek suddenly wants to nail his mouth. “The elevator, Derek. I was standing in the back when you came up to your room.”

“I don’t remember seeing you.”

“I might have been hiding behind a bunch of suitcases.”

It clicks. “You mean behind that _giant_ cart of matched luggage? It barely fit in the elevator.”

“One of them was filled entirely with red shoes,” Stiles says. “Multiple pairs. It was so fucking ridiculous, but they tipped me ten bucks, so whatever.”

Derek remember picking up a unique scent in the elevator. Crisp, unmistakable, and now with a face to match. “Okay, you were there. And you think I’m hot.”

“Don’t even,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure you have a fancy mirror that tells you how good-looking you are every single morning. Whereas the mirror I own is usually covered in toothpaste splotches because my roommate is a housekeeping _disaster_ , and it makes me think I have more moles than I really do, which—”

Derek only leans forward to make sure Stiles stops talking long enough to catch his breath, but his lips are drawn to Stiles’. Like opposite poles sliding together, Derek’s mouth is on Stiles’ before he can finish processing the thought.

And if touching Stiles was a rush, kissing him is like a damn hurricane. Derek knows he should pull away—he even tries—but Stiles locks his hands around the nape of Derek’s neck, ensuring their lips remain locked. His long fingers tap out small pulses of heat that race straight down Derek’s spine. Adrenaline suddenly cresting, Derek is floored by a wash of feelings he’s never experienced before. Stiles’ thumbs _scritch_ and drag across Derek’s jaw, behind his ear, cradling his face. _Oh, yes_ , his wolf enjoys that.

For the first time in days, Derek feels at ease. Like he’s floating without a care, not being pulled in a thousand different directions. The chaos broiling within him is finally, mercifully, smothered.

It’s all too good to be true, which is why Derek’s common sense forces him to lean away.

“Whoa,” is the first thing Stiles whispers when his lips are free to move. “Definitely wasn’t expecting that, but I _definitely_ wanted it,” he adds, “pretty much since I walked into the room.”

The incandescence in his expression begins to dim, though, as the seconds tick by. Derek’s not even sure he’s taken a full breath since he broke off the kiss, waiting for Stiles to react badly to what he never asked for. Stiles may have wanted it, but Derek _took_ as if compelled.

Stiles’ eyes flare wide, whites all around the maple-soaked irises. “But—shit! You’re still getting married tomorrow, and even if I—if we felt something, I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Derek smiles. Can’t help it. The situation is so unlikely, so remarkable, that the only thing he can do is let go of duty and logic. They’ve brought him nothing but confusion and regret over the last few months.

“Should I just go?” Stiles asks. His hands have dropped to the bed; Derek already misses the seismic effect they had on his body.

Derek taps into his courage. “I think you should stay. I want you to stay.”

Stiles looks up, but he’s not finished questioning Derek. “What about tomorrow? If you’re still going through with it, then I can’t—” He stumbles over his words; Derek wants to reach out and steady him.

“I don’t think you should go through with it,” Stiles tells him. “I know you don’t want to do it, but don’t use me as a convenient excuse.”

“You’re not—” Derek tries to settle himself. It’s easier in Stiles’ presence. The wall of excuses and rationalities he’s been building since Peter set this marriage in front of him like a mythical labor is crumbling brick by brick.

“Even if you walked out of here right now, I wouldn’t go through with the bonding. You’re not an excuse, Stiles, but you gave me a reason to stop and look at what I was doing.”

Stiles is unable to shield his emotions from Derek; they’re all over his face, electrifying the air. Derek can’t inhale without taking a hit of the shock, excitement, and attraction emanating from Stiles.

“If you hadn’t knocked on my door…”

“If you hadn’t decided to stop _ignoring_ my knocking,” Stiles counters, grinning.

“I thought I wanted to be alone,” Derek recalls. So much has shifted in under an hour. The sour stain of anxiety that’s been haunting him is nearly gone, along with Derek’s fear. The only thing he’s worried about now is how Laura’s going to react (he couldn’t care less about what Peter thinks). That, and whether or not Stiles is going to stay.

“What about now?”

“Like I said, I don’t want you to leave,” Derek reiterates, desperate to erase the physical distance between them. “We can talk, or order a movie, or even get out of here and—”

This time it’s Stiles shutting Derek up with a fierce kiss, intentions unmistakable. Fortuitous that they’re already on Derek’s bed as Stiles surges into his space, tipping them back onto the mattress.

Once Stiles realizes that Derek isn’t planning on putting a stop to their out-of-the-blue make out session, some of the frenzy seeps out of the kiss. His lips move fluidly against Derek’s, tongues meeting and dancing in warm spaces. Letting his worries go, Derek imagines that he was never in this hotel waiting to marry Bradley in the first place. Instead, he thinks about coming here with Stiles—nothing more than a romantic weekend getaway for the two of them. Derek lets those feelings wrap around his decrepit heart, feed life back into it.

Passion has Derek rolling beneath Stiles, pausing to trade playful smiles. Above him, Stiles is eager yet soft. Derek’s arms naturally wind around Stiles’ back, fingers skipping down his spine, all while Stiles’ hands are continuously moving, mapping Derek’s upper body.

Something begins to grow, then, within Derek’s chest. Claws through scorched earth and rotting ash. Breaks free with its newfound strength.

It feels a little like hope.

~~~

Derek’s never had so much fun getting naked with another person. Stiles’ energy is contagious; it ignites and sizzles as he unwraps Derek like an impatient child with a gift on Christmas morning. Frantic, but with care for the treasure beneath. Stiles doesn’t pause to worship skin as it’s revealed; he waits until Derek is completely bare (and goes pliant under Derek’s steady hands while he’s undressed in turn) before stepping back and appreciating the view.

“I’ve heard that you can always tell when you’re dreaming by counting your fingers,” Stiles says.

“You think this is a dream?”

“I’m not usually this lucky.”

“Neither am I,” Derek tells him, amused. “So either we’re both dreaming, or this is happening.”

“If this is a dream, I really don’t want to wake up. So maybe we should just keep making out until I do…”

Derek stalks closer, unashamed of his naked body (thanks in no small part to the reactive heat it brings out in Stiles’ eyes). He feels like a true wolf again, senses sharp.

“You’re going to wake up,” Derek whispers across Stiles’ cheek, “but not until tomorrow morning. Not until I’ve completely worn you out—after I’ve gotten what I want from you.”

Stiles tilts his face against Derek’s jaw, almost nuzzling his affection. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

Derek withholds the answer for a moment, teasing Stiles with the slow grind of his hips. Not only is Derek able to hear Stiles’ strong heartbeat, he can feel its pulse where Stiles’ cock is pressed against him. And Derek is tiptoeing along the edge of total ecstasy by the way the head of his own cock is sliding through the soft hair bisecting Stiles’ belly.

The hotel uniform had done nothing to flatter Stiles’ body. Derek sees that Stiles has been graced with lean musculature—strong and supple like a beautiful white birch tree, skin smooth (except for the occasional tempting mole) and pale. Stiles is a sight worthy of adulation, and Derek _wants_ , his patience close to snapping.

Derek takes Stiles hands and guides them around to his ass, setting one on the strong muscle just above the crease of his upper thigh and bringing the other closer to his center, curling Stiles’ fingers deep into the crease.

“Holy shit,” Stiles whispers. “Seriously? I thought—”

“I’ve done it before,” Derek tells him. “It’s just been a while. A _long_ while. But thanks to my uncle,” he adds with a wry grin, “we’ve got everything we need.”

As a testament to how much he approves, Stiles doesn’t second-guess Derek’s idea. His hands take ownership of Derek’s ass, kneading and delving in with his fingers. He clearly appreciates Derek’s assets, groaning into their kiss. The moment has everything Derek wants—heat, intensity, and with Stiles, plenty of humor—except for one thing.

“Wait—”

Stiles immediately stops moving. “Sorry, Did I—”

“No,” Derek reassures him. “I just wanted to shut off the lights.”

“I kinda like being able to see you,” Stiles pouts.

“Trust me.”

Derek switches off the lights one by one, enhanced senses guiding him across the room, making sure to brush by Stiles on his way by. He roots around for the gap in the curtains before giving up and ripping them aside. (Peter is footing the bill for the room, so shredding the thick fabric gives him a bit of a thrill.)

“What’re you…” Stiles trails off as soon as Derek turns around.

With the curtains thrown wide open, Derek is cloaked in moonlight from head to toe. Tomorrow night brings the full moon—tradition dictates its presence during bonding ceremonies for born wolves—so there’s a generous splash of silver highlighting Derek’s skin. He absorbs its energy like pure heat, every part of his body coming alive.

“Yeah, so much better,” Stiles mutters before his own ragged patience is rendered in two. He rushes forward and Derek shifts quickly to catch him, mouths open and teeth clashing.

Dropping onto the bed is a welcome relief. It’s been a long time since Derek wanted someone like this. The fire burned a lot out of him on the inside, too. He’s been too focused on his family, on helping Laura keep their small, vulnerable pack together, to seek out physical comfort. There was always a part of Derek that didn’t want to get close to anyone.

When Peter first brought up the idea of an arranged marriage, Derek thought it would be a good thing; he couldn’t muster the will to find someone on his own. 

Derek wonders what he’s done to deserve Fate intervening on his behalf like this. At the _very_ last minute, of course, but Derek is still grateful.

“I’m so glad I pulled your service ticket,” Stiles says while Derek’s scenting between his collarbones, tongue whipping out to swipe across random moles.

“Did you know it was mine?”

“Hell no. If I knew that, I would’ve been up here a lot sooner, wearing something a lot less lame.”

Derek looks up. “Does it seem like I care about what you _were_ wearing?”

“Point for you, clever wolf.” Stiles tucks his chin to his chest, grinning. 

Stiles’ cock does a little shimmy against Derek’s abs. Impatient, Derek bypasses the length of his chest and drops down, eager to be fucked for the first time in years. Stiles’ dick is perfectly proportioned to the rest of his body. Not as thick as Derek’s, but long and slightly tapered. Derek zones out imagining just how good it’s going to feel inside him, mind drowning in needs and instincts he’s spent the better part of seven years ignoring.

“I’m serious, Derek,” Stiles interrupts his thoughts. Apparently he’s been staring for too long. “We don’t have to do this. I’m all about making out. Especially making out while we’re _naked_. Highly underrated by my generation.”

“Stiles”—Derek cuts in—“get the lube.”

Derek sits up, averting his eyes as Stiles flails his body out from under him and off the bed. Embarrassment rarely gets the best of him, and he’s never this straightforward with a partner.

Stiles is helping him break all kinds of rules tonight.

He feels Stiles return to the side of the bed. Gentle hands skim through pools of moonlight down his back.

“You might be more comfortable on your stomach if it’s been a while.” 

Accepting the advice, Derek is soon lying comfortably in the middle of the bed, Stiles’ lithe form tucked alongside him. Stiles’ version of foreplay is half massage, half prep, his voice a calm soundtrack that carries Derek away from the sharper edges of the moment.

“This has always been one of my favorite parts of sex,” Stiles admits, words given so softly that only a werewolf would be able to hear him. One of his fingers moves slowly, smoothly, in and out of Derek’s body. A second swirls around his rim, tantalizing but not pressing. Derek stretches into the small thrusts, rediscovering his body’s sweet spot.

“I like it when I’m bottoming, too,” he goes on casually as if Derek’s mind isn’t taking that notion and filing it away to reimagine in detail later. “Maybe that sounds weird, but I’d rather have a guy finger me, or finger an _amazing_ ass like yours, than jerk off with someone.”

Only an hour ago, Derek questioned how he was going to survive being married off to a man he barely knew. Now he wonders how he’s going to survive one _night_ with Stiles.

Derek barely flinches when Stiles starts prepping his ring finger, slipping it through the extra lube around his hole. Stiles is a conduit for Derek’s all-over-the-place emotions; his presence draws away the excess so that Derek can feel what’s most important. Like an anchor.

The possibility of finding an anchor through bonding was one reason Derek agreed to marry Bradley in the first place. Anger had been his crutch since the fire—through countless full moons and transformations—and it was beginning to take its toll. But he’s never met Bradley…would his scent call to Derek the way Stiles’ does? Would he be able to guide Derek’s emotions away from turbulence, or would Derek continue to suffer during the full moon? 

Stiles has the ability to channel Derek’s passion. There’s no doubt he could do the same with his rage and despair. His scent is like _sanctuary_ and his aura is _radiant_ : a soft green glow with a bright inquisitive flare at the center.

“I could do this all night,” Stiles says, kissing the thicker muscle around Derek’s shoulder. “Your ass is just—I can’t even believe you’re letting me do this.” 

Flattered and in a mood to tease, Derek cocks his hips back onto Stiles’ fingers to bring them deeper. Then he thrusts forward, fucking his dick against the bed. Stiles curses and ups the tempo, fucking Derek’s ass even faster with three fingers. He clearly wasn’t kidding when he told Derek how much he enjoys this—part of Derek wishes they could do this all night. But the rest of him, driven by a deep _ache_ , craves more. He’s ready for it, but Stiles isn’t satisfied yet.

“This is the good stuff,” Stiles says, almost rambling for all that Derek’s able to process. “Just watching you take my fingers is so fucking hot. And I can tell you’re just _loving_ this. I mean, I can’t believe anyone would think you needed practice. Your new mate is a fucking moron…”

Derek finds his way to a complete sentence. Barely. “Not my mate anymore, remember?”

Maybe he’s forgotten, but hearing Derek confirm it seems to light Stiles’ fuse. He pulls his fingers out carefully, sparing Derek the discomfort he knows is possible. Stiles’ mouth is suddenly at the back of Derek’s neck, teeth flirting just above the skin. Derek arches his chest, lifting just enough to feel those teeth against his neck. Not a bite—not yet—but it’s enough to convince his wolf to submit for the time being.

Before circumstances in his life demanded that Derek take what he could get, he’d always imagined having a human as his mate. An equal rather than someone biologically hardwired to either submit or dominate. His father was human, and Derek grew up observing his parents’ balanced relationship. Being mated to someone like Bradley, with everything Peter told him of the man’s disposition, was terrifying. Losing power permanently scared him, but he couldn’t imagine being the dominant partner all the time either.

There’s a reason Laura is the Alpha, and not Derek.

Stiles’ mouth relents, and Derek hears the _rip_ , _slip_ , and _snap_ of the condom. He smells more lube as Stiles slicks his cock.

“You wanna stay on your stomach?” Stiles asks. “Might be easier.”

It would be, but Derek has another idea. Referencing one of his most well-used fantasies, he lifts himself onto his knees,elbows folded on the mattress.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles curses, sliding his cock against Derek’s ass. “Your idea is way, way better.”

“Stiles—” Derek cuts off further chatter. He likes the sound of Stiles’ voice, but he’s desperate. “Fuck me, or lose your chance.” The threat is spoken without heat, and Stiles calls his bluff. He leans forward over Derek’s back and catches his lips in a fierce kiss. Stiles’ passion is sharp and bright; it runs deep, down to the very fibre of his being.

“I don’t mind hearing how much you want this,” he says when the kiss is over. His cock is already in the perfect position to tease Derek’s hole. It’s nothing for Stiles to add just enough pressure to sink the head inside Derek’s body.

All Derek can do is enjoy how good Stiles’ cock feels, absolutely nothing like what he would’ve predicted. The length hits him in all the right places, heat spreading throughout his lower body. Stiles’ hands are wide and open, palm-down and fitted around Derek’s hips, fingers in the grooves of Derek’s muscles as if that’s where they’re meant to be. The extra contact grounds Derek the way the touch of a mate would, but he doesn’t allow himself to think too far down that path.

Their rhythm isn’t always perfect—knees slipping on the mattress, a too-shallow thrust forcing Stiles to pull out—but the little things make up for it. Whenever Derek tightens around him, Stiles’ breath leaves his lungs along with the most delicious sound. His scent surrounds Derek, becoming richer as they edge closer and closer to coming. Sweat rubs off on Derek’s skin when Stiles fucks all the way in, and Derek wishes he could absorb that as well. He wants every piece of Stiles.

After a mind-numbingly sweet series of strikes against his prostate—once Stiles found it, he made it his mission to torture Derek in the most delicious way—Stiles pulls out completely. Derek is almost ashamed of the noise he makes: a low, pleading whine that comes more from his wolf than his conscious mind.

Stiles presses his hand to Derek’s flank and strokes. The kid is _petting_ him. Derek would complain, but the touch arouses him in ways he never imagined.

“Don’t worry,” Stiles reassures him. “Just figured I’d give you a little variety.”

Variety turns out to be Stiles shifting to lie on his back and encouraging Derek to sit astride his hips.

“You like it this way?” Derek asks, spreading his hands over Stiles’ lean stomach. In this position he’s able to appreciate more of Stiles’ body: the developing definition across his chest and lower abdomen, his temptingly pale skin, the hollow between Stiles’ collarbones. He’s gorgeous in the moonlight. Derek can feel the moon’s sliver wash on his back along with a surge of fresh energy.

“You don’t?”

Derek shrugs. “Never done it this way.”

“Are you serious?” Flustered on Derek’s behalf, Stiles rolls his hips up against Derek’s ass. Derek dislikes the feel of the condom, but he gives points to Stiles for thinking of safety (Derek was too occupied to point out that he’d be able to _scent_ if Stiles wasn’t clean). 

“You need to fuckin’ get back on my dick _right now_.”

Derek surprises himself by laughing. It takes more than one attempt to oblige Stiles—they used plenty of lube, no doubt about that—but after that it gets easier. Stiles raises his knees and drops his feet flat on the bed, gaining leverage to meet Derek’s downward thrusts.

It’s better this way—so, so much _better_ —and Derek wants to draw their pleasure out as long as possible, but Stiles’ human endurance is limited. His body demands satisfaction, and Derek intends to see him through. Stiles’ open mouth is just begging for Derek’s tongue; he curls down and delves in with unyielding pressure, their chests heaving against one another. Stiles’ hands snap up to cradle the sides of Derek’s face, an oddly tender gesture in comparison to the violent clash between their lower bodies. The back of Derek’s ass is numb thanks to the force of Stiles’ hips driving up, but the absence of feeling lets Derek focus on the way he fits perfectly around Stiles’ dick, every nerve on fire.

“I want you to come,” Stiles mutters, words stuttered between choppy breaths. Derek’s close already, but he won’t say no to one of Stiles’ hands helping him out. He’s never had _kinks_ before, but Derek is quickly developing one for the size and shape of Stiles’ hands. For a palm wide enough to grip and stroke him thoroughly. For clever fingers that tease the head and slip around the underside of the crown.

Derek’s senses flare when he comes. Any orgasm under the moonlight is bound to be intense, but Derek’s entire body seizes as the sparks run the length of his spine. Fortunately Stiles knows what he is, or else he might be alarmed by the way Derek’s fingers shift into claws and tear into the bedding. He can feel his face changing, brow deepening and fangs lengthening as he loses control of his wolf.

Stiles gazes up, wonder in his eyes. “So fucking hot,” he says, strength spent. He hits his peak as Derek’s coming back down, features back to normal and senses clearing enough for him to watch Stiles’ face go slack as his orgasm crests.

Derek is the first to move. Stiles looks _wrecked_ , limbs sprawled haphazardly when Derek manages to separate their bodies. Cooler air washes over his shoulders and brings clarity to his sex-drenched mind. Stiles’ head lolls to the side, bright eyes searching out Derek’s.

“Is it weird to say how _epic_ that was?” Stiles asks.

“You’ve already said it,” Derek points out. “But I was thinking the same thing.”

“Good to know.” Stiles rolls and curls himself around Derek’s back, head beside Derek’s thigh. “You okay?”

He’s not asking about the sex. Derek nods. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

“The goofy smile on your face kind gives that away.”

Stiles gazes up at him fondly. It feels natural to lean down and kiss his soft, parted lips before a trip to the bathroom becomes essential for both of them.

While Stiles takes a quick shower, Derek returns to the bed—the shredded comforter balled up and thrown into a corner—and picks up his phone. He wants to call Laura, but he doesn’t know what to tell her. She probably wouldn’t appreciate a play-by-play, but he has to let her know that things have changed. In the end, he only manages to type out a pair of short texts before the shower cuts off.

Stiles is talking as soon as the bathroom door opens. “I hope you’re not tossing me out,” he says when he sees Derek sitting on the bed. “I don’t kick in my sleep and I’m _great_ at morning sex.”

Foregoing the rest of his clothes, Stiles drops his towel on the floor and steps into his boxers. Leaves plenty of warm, freshly scrubbed skin for Derek to admire.

“You want to stay?”

“Only if I get to be the big spoon.”

Derek grins. “No promises.”

Stiles shrugs and climbs on the bed. He boldly takes ownership of the entire right side, but there’s plenty of room left for Derek to fit himself around that lean body. With Stiles’ gently traipsing fingers distracting him, Derek forgets to worry about what Laura’s going to think, or what Peter might say when he finds out.

The sheets are cool and welcoming, the pillowcase infused with Stiles’ clover and meringue scent. Derek could drift happily until the sun comes up, but Stiles is already asleep. Light, quiet breaths humming across Derek’s cheek. Too perfect of a moment to ruin by thinking about what could happen in the morning.

Hopefully Stiles makes good on his promise to stick around. Heat spreads in Derek’s chest when he thinks about seeing more of this impulsive, passionate young man. Derek’s unwilling to put a name to what he’s feeling—which doesn’t stop the word from bouncing around inside his head—but he smiles to himself anyway. 

And, at the very least, morning sex is going to be a _great_ distraction from the inevitable meltdown Peter’s going to have when he hears about this.

 

**epilogue.**

Laura feels bad about conning the guy at the front desk into giving her a second keycard to Derek’s room, but _clearly_ this counts as a sibling emergency. 

She spent half the night awake and tossing restlessly while her mate slept soundly beside her. She may not be the one getting married, but she felt the weight on her shoulders, too, unable to brush aside Derek’s obvious misery.

Peter really screwed the pack over on this one. She might be the Alpha of the Hale pack, but Peter was older. His connections outnumbered hers—his influence far greater with the West Coast packs.

Laura continued to fret as the sun came up, trying to work up a way to get Derek out of this bonding, but before she could come up with a solution, her phone chimed. The text surprised her.

_Tell Peter to cancel the ceremony._

Then, a few seconds later…

_Found a reason not to go through with it._

Laura smiled at her phone before scrambling out of bed and waking her mate as she tossed the covers back. 

Now, as the elevator doors close behind her and cut off the yummy scent of the hotel’s full breakfast buffet, Laura wonders what happened to change Derek’s mind. She’d begged him not to agree to Peter’s proposal, but Derek was nothing if not stubborn. He was willing to do anything if he thought it would help their pathetically small pack.

As soon as she steps into the room, she regrets slipping in without knocking. The scent hits Laura hard and fast; she nearly moans as the texture of sex and lust works its way into her senses. Definitely _not_ a scent she ever wanted to associate with her goddamn brother.

She opens her mouth to shout one of several obscenities that come to mind, but a second scent steals the words away. A pleasant scent, sweet and fresh like a summer custard. Laura immediately knows it’s not coming from Derek, but the way the sugar and green notes blend with Derek’s richer natural scent is almost fitting. A perfect compliment…

Laura gasps.

_You’ve gotta be kidding me._

Everything slots into place and Laura nearly chokes on her own laughter. She’s tempted to rouse Derek and berate him for being so _dramatic_ , causing her to panic with his cryptic text messages.

Why the hell wouldn’t Derek tell her that he met his true mate? Based on the, _ugh_ , pungent sex smells throughout the hotel room, things between Derek and his mate had gone…well.

Laura tiptoes further into the room until she can see the bed. Derek’s broad back hides his mate from view, but even in sleep, Laura’s able to read the relief and contentment in his body language. He’s wrapped protectively around his mate, their knees aligned. As if they couldn’t get close enough to one another. Whoever Derek’s mate is, he’s a lucky guy.

_Human_. Laura picks that up easily now that she’s closer to the bed. Interesting. Not only that, but she picks up the unmistakable scent of _pack_ when she takes a deep breath.

So… Derek’s mate is a human in another pack—a small one. Challenging, Laura thinks, but not impossible. Maybe even ideal given the Hale’s shaky status in the region. An alliance based on true mates could help both packs. Peter won’t be able to argue against the wisdom of that. Though Laura has no doubt that he’ll try.

It’s a good thing she’ll do anything for her brother, including backing quietly out of the room and closing the door behind her. When Laura found her mate, she’d wanted nothing more than to keep him all to herself for as long as possible—she can at least handle Peter, Bradley, and the few invited guests from ruining Derek and his mate’s first morning together. 

That, and she can stop by the front desk again. No question Derek would appreciate a big breakfast being delivered to his suite so that he and his mate can keep to themselves for a little while longer.

After all, who doesn’t love room service?

 

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [hurricanekelleigh](http://hurricanekelleigh.tumblr.com/).


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